Attire
by Momosportif
Summary: KomuiReever returns with a vengeance! Komui puts a problem to Reever that may have them both stumped. Inspired by Komui's smexy anglicized apparel in recent chapters and the letter of the day, a. For angst. Character's are Hoshino's! Enjoy!


Momo is back for a very brief while. :) I've missed you all, especially Sarahfreak who I best go ahead and dedicate this to...think of it as an early part of your b-day present, m-kay?

The first and last sections are present time and all of them in-between are a "flashback" (if you will...) ;3

This is set prior to Allen's hearing/interrogation/what-have-you...I was so smitten by Komui in a waistcoat I had to write this. XD

A thousand thank yous for reading and I hope you all enjoy!

-S

* * *

I wish I could tell him.

I wish a lot of things right now, but more than anything I wish I could tell him. It's hard to understand. For all of us in the office he's a pillar, an anchor, an itch on that spot on your back that you just can't get to-whatever, but he's always there.

And now I'm sitting here on his desk watching him crumble and it's scary. Scarier than anything I've ever seen before because if he crumbles…

we'll all be crushed beneath him.

* * *

"Um… Section Leader…"

"Yeah…"

"I, um… I have a question, well, a favor really, to ask you…"

"Yeah…"

"Section leader," two long, thin hands splayed across the paper Reever was studying and he looked up, slightly irritated, "you're not listening to me, are you?" Komui gazed back evenly, dark eyes stern.

He was actually serious.

The director's expression softened as he removed his glasses and sat back in the chair, considering his superior in his open way.

"What's up?"

The supervisor faltered again now that the conversation had been steered back to its original topic. The hands folded up and retreated to the edge of the desk, eyes lifting to the corners of the room in, Reever questioned his sanity to even think it, shyness? Really? _Komui? Shy?_ Surely not, but-

"Well, it's a little embarrassing actually," one of those little laughs that clearly broadcasts that the laugher would rather like to be dead at the moment followed the statement along with a shaky attempt to tuck some loose hairs behind his ear, both signs of uncharacteristic anxiety.

Taken off-guard by this behavior, Reever balked too, but quickly recovered and said in the blithe, inviting way only he could say things, "Heeey! No need to beat around the bush… I'm sure I'll understand."

Komui's bright eyes dropped to where he clutched the desktop and his whispered response rose up to Reever weakly, "I hope so." The elegant digits relinquished their hold, slipping into space and then swinging to a halt at his side as he gave a shuttering sigh. When their eyes met again there was such an electric intensity in the licorice gaze opposite his that Reever scooted back as if pushed. "I need you to help me dress."

"_What?_"

The eyes fell again and a hand rose to attempt another fruitless hair tuck, voice going back to Komui's normal higher register though void of all the usual mischief.

"For Allen's hearing today, I mean… I think I should dress for the gravity of the occasion…" the tapered fingers gave up trying to free his line of vision from stray plum strands and drifted to his mouth, playing over his pursed lips as he tucked his other arm across his chest to prop up the opposite elbow. "Something anglicized, you know… I can't quite go in my slippers and lab coat."

A brief silence followed this statement and they both jumped to fill it with awkward laughter. Reever spread his hands wide and tilted his head to the side in a gesture of acceptance, "True, true…"

"So… do you think you can help?" the drumming fingers froze, eyes bouncing back up to face his. "With the choosing part, I mean. I can do the actual dressing myself, of course-"

"Yeah," Reever stood, shuffling his papers into an admirably organized stack and rounding the desk, "yeah, it shouldn't be a problem, I used to help the guys at school when we had to get gussied up for events," Komui followed his subordinate smiling in that quiet, sincere way only he could smile. "Ha! You should have seen them trying to get on their caps and gowns… it was ridiculous…"

"Oh my!"

* * *

"Wow."

"What?" Komui tensed, physiognomy wrought with concern. "Does it really look that bad?"

"No, no, no," Reever shook his head rather violently, emphasizing his point as much as attempting to clear his head, "it's just- wow."

He stood, plopping the newspaper he'd been skimming on the supervisor's bed and coming to meet the towering Asian halfway.

"You look…" his voice and wandering gaze cut off and he turned to the corner, mentally cursing himself for even starting the sentence, "really nice," he finally managed.

"Really?" the hopeful tone pulled Reever out of his ever-deepening pit of embarrassment, forcing him to bring his eyes back up to the relieved countenance.

This time, Reever very wisely opted for a non-verbal response and nodded with a grin that he hoped displayed all his support and none of his mortification.

"Well, good," sighed Komui in a fluttery exhale, as if all the butterflies swarming about his abdomen were making their escape. He swept past Reever to lean over his dresser in order to greet his reflection, finger-combing his hair peevishly.

Pivoting on the spot to follow his superior's progress, Reever blinked as his irreversibly analytical mind broke apart overall difference into smaller, more detailed and manageable differences.

No beret: his hair was free to frame his face. It made his skin look paler.

No coat: his form was actually visible, not cloaked by the loose lengths of his uniform. He was slim. In an intriguing (attractive) way.

He was, in fact, unusually elegant.

Particularly perfect.

Exuding an aura of magnificence and majesty that was of a finer make than the alien apparel trimming his figure, and yet, somehow, it was all wrong. Something more than the lack of a lab coat and slippers was not quite right about Komui but he could not put his finger on it-

"Oh!"

The soft exclamation startled Reever into blinking himself back into normal-awareness mode.

"What's up?"

Komui paused mid noble attempt to peer at his lower back in order to glance up apologetically.

"Um… this clasp here… on the back," an oddly angled finger managed to indicate the source of agitation, "I can't quite get it- Oh! Thank you, Reever!" The muscles along his spine contracted as he instinctively withdrew from the touch of his peer's fingers on his back but slowly relaxed as they methodically completed their task and departed.

Reever gave him a solid clap on the shoulder in a desperate attempt to de-feminize the situation as he came to stand beside his supervisor.

"Thank you…" For a while, Komui's pupils bounced up and down from mirror to dresser top as if following the progress of an intense ping-pong match.

The dresser lost.

"I know it's kind of stupid," a little smile worked its way across his trembling lips and broke in a choky laugh, "and it's definitely nonsensical but, somehow, I feel like this will help, you know? I fell like I ought to do every little thing, follow every little hunch- no matter how silly sounding- if I think it has even the slightest chance of helping Allen." There went the hand to his ear, breaking the flow of strength in his voice and his posture into quaky uncertainty, "I know this probably seems absolutely idiotic to you, but-"

"No. It doesn't," Reever caught Komui's flighty gaze and held it with a firmness characteristic of his stubborn nature, intent on offering his support to the man he so (albeit begrudgingly) admired. "It's like knocking on wood or wearing the same football jersey a whole season for good luck. It just works if it works and doesn't if it doesn't," he released the wide, vulnerable eyes and took up studying the wood grain of the table as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "Not everything's as cut and dry as we'd like it to be."

There are several moments in Reever Wenhamm's past that stand out as particular points of pride and there are many more that stay fresh in his mind as times of unforgettable regret but rarely are they back to back in the neat sequential order of his life.

This was the one exception.

He has reflected approvingly on going through with his intention to stand by his higher-up, but cringes every time he recalls jumping a good foot or so in the air when the supervisor took his hand.

Luckily, however, (as far as Reever knows) Komui was oblivious to his fine display of how a healthy, if strained, nervous system reacts to unexpected physical contact. Needless to say, Reever was surprised when he found his left hand aloft in the supervisor's gentle yet firm grasp, moving up and down in a shake that preserved the propriety of such an interaction between people of their respective ranks, but with a kind of tenderness and informality that he could not help but feel was reserved especially for their contact.

He looked up, feeling not so much the motion but the actual touch, and met the steady beam of the Komui they knew so well with a vacant (and, he is sure, idiotic) expression.

"Thank you, Reever!" with a squeeze the shaking stopped but more than enough heartbeats passed before their hands actually fell back apart, "I'll do my best!"

* * *

It's crazy how fast things happen sometimes and how slow they happen at others, how everything falls apart at once when it would be so much easier if it happened one thing at a time.

It's crazy that when no other force but gravity is acting on all the potential disasters, some fall faster and harder than others. But not everything's as cut and dry as we'd like it to be.

"What happened?"

He's sitting on the couch where everyone collapses after their missions and it's almost too appropriate for him to be there now with one arm across his chest to keep the other up so its pale fingers can press over his mouth and keep all the anguish in his eyes from escaping more effectively.

He shakes his head, then lifts the tense digits just enough to let out a short, "I don't know."

And his chest expands with a deep breath (I wonder how many have come before it that I couldn't see beneath his uniform) as his hand moves up to hold his bent head, all the emotion that looked fit to pour out moments before just evaporating, disappearing maybe, even though we both know matter cannot be created or destroyed.

His eyes just died, went dull and empty.

He shakes his head again, "Nothing went right, there was nothing I could do… I've never felt so," his sigh comes out bitter, "helpless."

He drops his arms to his knees and looks up at me sitting on his desk watching him crumble.

"Things are changing, Reever…we're powerless now."

And it's we. Very much we.

I look down at the floor because I'm too much of a coward to face him in all his magnificent misery, his beautiful breakdown. I wish so many things right now, but more than anything I wish I could tell him.

We're all getting crushed beneath him and the true case of the Black Order's destruction has just begun as far as I can tell, if anyone gives a whit what a third-rate scientist thinks, and it's scary. Scarier than anything I've ever seen before.

I wish I could tell him that I'll never let this happen again.

But I've never known what to do when your constant turns out to be a variable.

* * *

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Errors you caught? :) Feel free to pass any or all of these on in a review! :D I cannot promise that I'll get back to you in a timely fashion (school is kicking my sorry ass hard and far at the moment) but I do promise to get back to you at some point, hopefully sooner than later.

Again, a thousand thank yous for your time and I hope you enjoyed. :)

-bows-

-S


End file.
